


you can breathe, you can breathe now.

by lakeffectkid



Category: GOT7
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, another college au i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeffectkid/pseuds/lakeffectkid
Summary: “Come to my house for Thanksgiving, mom won’t let me hear the end of it if I don’t invite you. She likes you as much as or more than me, probably, it's not like you need an excuse at this point.” Mark says the next day, picking up Jackson’s backpack while he hauls his fencing gear over one shoulder and tosses it in his dorm. It hits the floor with a thump and gives one last roll before settling. “Spending the day alone eating at the dining hall sucks.”Mark brings Jackson home for his first Thanksgiving. They end up together but the journey takes a few twists and turns to get to the destination.





	you can breathe, you can breathe now.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i'm awful at summaries. have some markson. (i have no idea how to tag things?)
> 
> (title borrowed from a jack's mannequin song, please listen to everything in transit, it was my background music the whole time.)

“Hey, do you have any plans for the holiday?” It’s not the first time this week someone asked him about that. He feels like he missed a memo at some point in their friendship and Mark isn't telling him what it is.

“What holiday?” Jackson yawns and scrunches his nose up at the crisp air that's never been humid but always a similar climate to home; the weather’s been cooling off to something he’s more than fine with, especially in a warm gym and stuck in fencing gear for hours. Mark sits next to him in the writing class they share, goes to the Asian American students club daily with him, and even waits for Jackson after fencing practice to remind him to eat.

They’re friends. Only friends. (They found each other by pure luck, Jackson overheard Mark talking to Amber at the beginning of the semester one day and interjected himself into their conversation when the timing was right. And it all fell into place when they kept running into each other at club one day and Mark missed a writing class and had to borrow Jackson's notes, spending the afternoon at the library. It's either history repeating itself or fate, depending on the philosophy.)

“Thanksgiving is this week! Did you not listen to me or half of campus cheering about no class on Wednesday?” Mark turns the radio down in the car and Jackson wakes up a little more, motioning for Mark to make the left turn into the grocery store parking lot before he missed the turn. “Mom gave me a list of stuff to pick up, thanks for helping me with the shopping.”

“You kind of kidnapped me after practice after I managed to smell like less of a dirty gym sock and more of a clean gym sock.” Jackson shakes water droplets off his hair for emphasis. They land on his pants with apathy for his situation. "I mean, I could shower at your house again if you think I smell."

“You're my favorite gym sock, dirty or clean. I pick you up every Sunday and you use the internet at my house and eat instead of dealing with your roommate and his shitty hookup du jour,” Mark searches aimlessly for a parking spot and swears at the car in front of him for not using a blinker, bringing his tone back to something a little less scary. "It's expected that you mooch off the hot water too."

Jackson gives in at Mark’s comeback - when he came here from Hong Kong in August Mark was one of the first people to listen to Jackson’s nonstop talking and get past the emotional barriers he constructed, held together by a good sense of humor and deflection skills. “Fine, I’ll get a shopping cart.”

“If you're a good boy today I'll let you get a piece of candy.” Jackson sticks his tongue out and knows his excuse of a diet holds no weight when his teammates manage to fit in Thirsty Thursday at the bar and make it to practice the next morning. "But just one, mom says not to spoil your appetite."

Jackson’s never had an American Thanksgiving before - he’s eighteen and despite knowing English better than most native speakers, California is a world away from home. Naivety looks good on him and he's too trusting of people to the point where Mark or Amber have to give him a helpful nudge once in a while. He pushes the shopping cart through the store and follows Mark’s directions when he says to turn, stop, or back up in an aisle, nodding his head along to the inoffensive elevator music that the grocery store plays. This is familiar and repetitive, Jackson pushing a cart and trailing behind his mother as a kid, and then a teen, while she rattled off their shopping list and put things inside. But now it's Mark instead and he's an ocean away from everything he called home. 

“What’s so great about Thanksgiving, anyway?” He likes the feeling of Mark’s grasp around his bicep, a familiar and grounding weight in a sea of unfamiliar people in the store.

Mark’s grip falters and he has to pause and think, aware of how silent Jackson had been this whole time. It happens and Mark studies his face when it does, watches his expression change depending on his thoughts. Sometimes it's good and he'll scrunch his nose up or his “It’s about seeing family and being thankful for the people in your life, I guess. The food is nice and all, but.” He misses his family, calls his mom and speaks to her in rapid cantonese until the homesickness diminishes to something that doesn't gnaw at his stomach. “It’s who you spend it with.”

“Oh.”

 

“Come to my house for Thanksgiving, mom won’t let me hear the end of it if I don’t invite you. She likes you as much as or more than me, probably, it's not like you need an excuse at this point.” Mark says the next day, picking up Jackson’s backpack while he hauls his fencing gear over one shoulder and tosses it in his dorm. It hits the floor with a thump and gives one last roll before settling. “Spending the day alone eating at the dining hall sucks.”

“I’m on a d-”

“You can break your diet for one day, I won't tell anyone. Scouts honor.” Mark laughs, making the three fingers salute with ease (he was a boy scout for all of two years and Mark's mom jumped at the opportunity to display the embarrassing photos on the kitchen table, narrated by his dad) and Jackson’s heart wavers at the sound of it, how Mark throws mixed signals despite being unaware of it. “We’re having American and Taiwanese food. I already told her you don’t like spicy things.”

“Sure.” Mark has to leave, probably to beat the never-ending traffic that this city seems to be plagued with. 

 

There’s no classes on the Wednesday before the holiday and Jackson packs an overnight bag with a few days' worth of clothes. (The truth is that he’s had it packed since Monday after Mark asked him to come and meet his family, the rest of his family.) Waiting for mark’s text to jump in his car gnaws at him until he shoves the pointless worrying away. His roommate was gone already, he ditched campus on Tuesday night to catch a plane back to north Carolina. He wasn't missed; one less body in the room meant Jackson had the liberty to walk around without a shirt on and even jerk off without having to shoo his roommate away or stay in the shower until his skin pruned. 

Jackson paces and he shouldn’t be this worked up. He flinches at his phone vibrating, Mark’s name popping up in the notification bar. In the time he was pacing he already made his bed and decided the sheets weren't straight enough so he un-made it and re-made it like his mother would be inspecting it soon.

 _i’m waiting outside when youre ready, the aux cord is all yours_ He reads the text and practically jumps down the four flights of stairs that lead outside, nervous energy thrumming through his body. Mark is stingy with the aux cord in his hand me down car, refusing to let anybody touch it except himself (and Jackson, but Mark would do damn near anything for him because they're friends).

Mark’s tapping out a message to someone when Jackson walks up to the car, a goofy smile on his face. “Who’s that?”

“Michaela from my stats class, she snapchatted me a picture of her dog.” The dog is cute, flopped over on its back with its tongue hanging out. He's not sure if Mark is smiling at the dog or the girl.

“Oh, that’s nice. Is she cute?” Jackson doesn't even know who she is or that Mark was even taking stats this semester. 

“I don’t really like girls, so I wouldn’t know.” Mark readjusts his grip on the steering wheel, flexes his hands and checks the mirrors. “I like her dog more, honestly.”

The atmosphere in the car doesn’t change much after Mark’s unintentional confession that just slipped out like his _good morning_ , _how are you?_ , and _did you eat today?_ texts; Jackson takes the aux cord and plugs it into his phone, throwing a playlist Mark made for him on shuffle. It's all of his favorite songs ranging from late 90's American pop to recent billboard hits that Jackson missed out on growing up. “I guess I like both, then.”

“Yeah? You guess so?” It’s all said in jest and not to be taken poorly. "Congrats on finding yourself, man." The half hour commute from campus to Mark’s house is filled with Mark’s playlist, music that Jackson had never heard before coming here and now can’t live without. His stomach churns at the idea of never being exposed to this, crying in Mark's car to Andrew McMahon's voice and an E-flat major piano when he felt the world crashing down around him or whiny pop-punk front men singing about heartbreak. “Anyone you’re into right now?”

“I’m still trying to figure out your weird American holidays, and coach would have my head if I was late because of a date.” 

“Do your parents know yet?” Mark takes a sharp turn and is in the residential area again where it’s quieter and the chaos of Los Angeles is muted, throwing Jackson around in the passenger seat just to make sure he's not zoning out too much. “it’s cool if they don’t.”

“I, uh.” The strings on Jackson’s hoodie become really interesting all of a sudden. “I just figured it out recently, so I’m taking it a day at a time.” 

Mark nods his head in agreement, turning down the radio when they pull into the driveway of Mark's family home. 

 

Mark’s mom talks to Jackson more than she does her own son when they get home; Mark gets his bag out of the trunk and upstairs before Jackson has the opportunity to remove his shoes at the door so he doesn't track dirt inside. He feels overwhelmingly grateful to have a second set of parents that took him in so quickly and offered him a guest room on top of everything else that they've done now that Mark's sisters moved out. “Are you eating well? How are your parents doing? Mark told me you don’t like spicy things, there’s nothing like that so you don’t have to worry!”

The barrage of questions whirls past him like an affection-laden tornado that blindsides everyone and he manages a “yes, they’re doing fine, that’s too much, thank you.”

The extended Tuan family shows up over the course of the day and by the evening Jackson’s situated on Mark’s bed with his laptop open and a half-hearted attempt at writing a paper he knows is due after break. “You don’t mind taking my room, right? My cousins are coming and they got the guest room so I’ll crash on the couch instead.”

“Isn’t it bad for your back? You never liked sleeping on the couch.” Jackson’s concern shows on his face, how he damn near pouts and Mark sighs before clearing pillows off his bed to quell Jackson’s worry.

“It’s only a few nights and it wouldn’t be the first time, it happens every holiday. If you’re really that worried we can go and get an air mattress or something from Target and we'll share my room.” Mark’s so casual with his reassurance, poking at Jackson’s ribs to get him to stop pouting. “You look like a kicked puppy when you’re upset.”

 

When dusk settles in, Mark nudges Jackson to get up and help walk his dog whose already sitting at the door waiting as a way to avoid being blindsided by the family. It's a miracle it hasn't wagged its tail so hard it practically broke off but it yips and leaps up on Mark as he jingles the leash and clips it on. The way Mark talks to his dog makes Jackson feel envious (of a dog of all things!) for licking Mark’s face and practically knocking him over. Jackson offers a hand up from where Mark’s laying on the kitchen floor on his side, his hair rumpled and messy. Some of Mark’s shirt rode up in the process and there’s a little strip of skin that rarely sees the light of day so it's noticeably whiter than his arms. “No sleeping allowed, you’re the one who told me to get up in the first place.”

The walk is uneventful if Jackson doesn’t consider how often their hands brush together and how neither of them flinch when Jackson holds Mark’s extra-long sleeve tightly where the fabric hangs past his fingertips. “What does your family do for thanksgiving anyway?” Jackson feels so small and so foreign when Mark rambles on about traditions and practices that make no sense to him but he appreciates how the lilt of Mark’s voice lowers his heart rate and releases the weight tethered to his ankles so he listens anyway, his grip drifting lower to Mark’s hand (the one that isn’t tangled up in the dog’s leash).

Mark doesn’t break the contact Jackson initiates (and Jackson has seen Mark brush people off before like it was nothing), instead he twines their pinkies together in reassurance. “My family isn’t that scary, they’re a lot more outgoing than I am.”

“Your parents basically adopted me.” Mark’s dog pants in the early evening heat. “They feed me, I sleep in their house, and you drive me everywhere.”

“I chose you first,” Looking both ways in the street, they turn around to head back before the rest of the Tuan clan decides to take over the neighborhood. “and I’m glad I did.”

 

They don’t part ways until late into the night, both of them pressed close on Mark’s full sized bed watching youtube videos and forgetting about homework they should be working on. An hour was lost when Mark recounted the story of how a girl in his major has been trying to flirt with him since his first year. The bed has fit four grown boys comfortably before but they choose to sit within an inch of each other's faces. Mark’s laugh is infectious and his smile is so wide, it inadvertently makes Jackson smile in return.

When Mark yawns and stretches his shirt rides up again and Jackson’s grateful for the cover of night and a well placed blanket over his lap. “night, Jacks.”

“Night, Mark.”

 

Jackson’s night in mark’s bed is spent tossing and turning - he didn’t realize how good Mark smelled until he was surrounded by it, or how Mark isn’t really as quiet as the rest of their friends says he is. He doesn’t know how he feels about mark after their short heart to heart in the car earlier. Maybe it’s just adoration and puppy love because mark took him in like a stray and is helping him integrate, maintain his cultural identity but retain who he is. Or maybe it’s the rapid heartbeat that strikes whenever Mark clears his passenger seat off, handing him the aux cord and nodding along to whatever music he plays even if it's not his favorite song.

Jackson’s not sure of a whole lot, but he should probably get dressed and help Mark's mom set up for dinner.

Mark’s passed out on the couch when Jackson goes to wake him up; the living room was always a little draftier than the upstairs so he doubled up in a sweatshirt and a light blanket. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

“Good afternoon to you too?” His barely-awake voice is muted by the pillow his face is smushed into.

“So that’s where it’s been.” The _please keep it forever_ sticks to the back of Jackson’s throat and refuses to come out. He’s in love with the idea of Mark wearing his clothes and in love with the real thing too. “Did I forget it in your car or something?”

“You did a month ago, and I was cold so I used it. " October, when Jackson came down with a cold that was bad enough he needed to go to a walk in emergency room but didn't have the money for the visit. Mark picked him up at midnight and laid him down in the backseat until they arrived and Mark threw his credit card down, telling Jackson not to worry and get better. He must have taken it off between shivering and sweating, using it as a makeshift pillow. "I haven't done anything gross in it, I wash it regularly.”

“You can um.” Jackson swallows his nerves and his confession. “It looks good on you, keep it.”

 

Mark begrudgingly dresses as nicely as a nineteen year old can; jeans without fashionable holes and a shirt that’s not wrinkled, rolled up to the elbows. When he knows the other is in the shower and the water won't stop running until, mark rubs the soft fabric between his hands.

It smells like both of them. Mark wonders if two nights of Jackson staying in his room would give the same effect.

 

“So you’re from Hong Kong?” one of Mark’s aunts asks right away once everyone’s settled in at the table. “What brings you to California?” She leans in, barely avoiding knocking over her wine glass and staining the table red.

“I’m here on a fencing scholarship. The university is paying for basically everything so I just have to maintain my grades and stay on the team.” There’s a round of oooh’s and "i wanna see!"s from Mark’s family. He pulls up practice videos and his phone passes from hand to hand, each face in more awe. Mark isn't fazed by it anymore. 

He's quiet but always listening, his mouth quirking in a little smile at how proud Jackson is whenever he talks about fencing or his family, praising his mother for who he is today. One of Mark’s cousins butts in with “Yeah, your boyfriend is really cool!” And. Well.

Mark chokes on his food while Jackson’s face turns a shade of red that shouldn’t exist. His brother Joey snorts into his drink and high-fives the cousin. “We-We’re not dating, he’s my friend.”

Mark’s dad changes the subject before anyone else has a change to comment on how Mark’s noticeably happier with Jackson around, a dreamy look on his face despite his disdain for big family events. “So, how about the dodgers?”

Jackson has never been more grateful for the change of subject.

 

Mark gets stuck with dish duty when his siblings all mysteriously find excuses to not help and Jackson volunteers himself so Mark isn’t alone. “Sorry about my cousin, she’s a little bit of a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Your family’s really open minded, it’s fine,” From the kitchen, they hear the adults’ conversation blur between mandarin and English when necessary, the name Yi-en being dropped in Mark’s direction. “Yi-en?”

“It’s my Chinese name. I thought I told you that one day at club?” Mark’s using the dishwasher instead for the bulk of the plates and utensils, up to his elbows in soapy water for bigger pans. “My family doesn’t use it much and I don’t either.”

“It’s nice. Yi-en.” Jackson rolls the syllables around in his mouth, how fluidly Wang Yi-en would sound if he said it aloud. “Jia-er.”

“Jia-er, is that so? So when you forget to eat or take care of yourself, I have another name to call you besides gaga?” The soap in the sink bubbles up and little transparent bubbles float around them. Mark pops a few between scrubbing glassware clean and setting it to dry.

Instead of staying to entertain the kids Mark takes Jackson by the hands and says “We’re going to the beach!”, ultimately leaving his siblings to keep the kids busy. “You’re a bad person, Mark, Joey’s hiding in his room already.” Tammy doesn't stop them from going, doesn't stop the smile from blooming on Mark's face. 

“Mom and dad will fix that.” He starts the engine with a playful grin and keeps two hands on the wheel as he peels out of the driveway, Yellowcard playing on his phone. He can’t sing to save his life but he pretends he can, roping Jackson in to sing alternating lines and rolling through stop signs at empty intersections when everyone's inside and with family. Jackson falls in love a little bit more, a little off-key.

It’s dark when they find a parking spot. jackson’s been to this beach with mark before, and jinyoung and jaebum when it was still warm to swim. (mark had done a double-take at jackson’s abs while jackson reflexively covered himself. “no, you look amazing, keep the shirt off.” mark said, biting his lip at the corner and reaching in the cooler for a soda.)

Jackson takes Mark’s phone and drags the other in for a selfie of them together, cheeks pressed against each other past the point of just friends. “Sorry about today, again. Was everything else good?”

He kicks his shoes off and digs his toes in the sand. “It was fun. Invite me again next year?”

“Of course.”

 

On Friday Mark's mom sends Jackson back to his dorm with leftovers (”so you remember to eat, those muscles need it!”) and a hug that rivaled one from his own mother. Mark had woken up before the entire house, still wrapped up in the sweatshirt and rifling through the pantry. “Mom, where’s your cookie recipe?”

“You’re really trying to impress him, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think he’s getting it yet.” His phone vibrates something fierce, a message from someone who isn't Jackson. "I think I should move on." 

"Oh, honey." She looks down into her cup, swirling tan colored coffee around.

Fencing practice is Saturday morning so Jackson has a whole day to catch up on laundry and lay in bed doing homework he's put off since he got back. Mark dropped him off with enough food to feed an army, plus a tin of cookies (“You like chocolate, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. You made them today?” Mark nodded, his messy handwriting on a post it note stuck to the top.)

Soon he’d be going home for Christmas break without Mark.

 

The remaining semester flies by faster than Jackson wants it to, sleepless nights at the library stacked on the days where fencing practice didn’t consume his life. They have schedules and lives independent of each other even if they're drawn to each other by some red string. The days between those they didn't talk as much and when they do see each other it's at the Asian American club long enough to say hello before Mark leaves to meet someone waiting outside the door. “Hey, Mark?”

“What is it?” Mark’s struggling through their English 200 reading assignments, his eyes rolling back at how dry the text is. Everyone in the library is feeling the crunch of the last few weeks of the semester.

“Are you gonna miss me when I’m back home for break?” Jackson looks at Mark like he’s expecting an overwhelming confession of love or friendship or something. He gave up on saying what he wanted to say, asking who the mystery guy is that Mark's wrapped up in. “I won’t be home for Chinese New Year.”

"Then celebrate it with me and everyone at the club instead.” Mark shrugs and tucks a bookmark into his book, putting it on the edge of the table. “It won’t be perfect, but it’ll be close enough.”

The tightness in Jackson’s chest at the idea of sharing the new year with Mark doesn’t go away for the remainder of the week. He ruffles jackson’s hair and his touch lingers a little too long at his nape, fingers curling protectively.

 

Jackson lands in Hong Kong and the familiar cadence of cantonese mixed with English is overwhelming at first; Mark’s smell clings to the sweatshirt that he eventually returned to Jackson at LAX on the day his flight left. (“I said I’d return it.” Mark folded it and everything, even went as far as getting out the stains in the cuffs that Jackson couldn’t with the dorm washing machines. “Don’t forget me when you’re back home.” They threaded their fingers together and it felt so intimate and so right.)

“Jia-er!” Jackson tries to make the last bit of California he has last the few weeks he's home, watching the grains of sand trickle through the hourglass one by one.. “Jia-er! it’s been four months already?”

Jackson acknowledges the girl talking to him; she had a crush on him all through high school and he never reciprocated because he was too busy with fencing. He still couldn't reciprocate if he tried, because of Mark. She’s prettier now with a new haircut too, dyed a different color and everything. “I guess it has.”

“How’s California?” Jackson checks his phone more than he should in the presence of his extended family; Mark’s texted him a few times. Physically they’re so close, but time zones means he’s waking up as Mark’s going to bed.

 

Jackson’s woken up by a facetime notification at god-knows-what in the morning. He's back in his childhood bedroom, looking at trophies and medals from years ago, posters from his adolescence. “Hello?”

It’s Mark. Jackson is suddenly more interested in this call than ever before despite his sleepiness; it's still dark outside. “Merry Christmas, gaga.”

“It’s sixteen hours behind in Los Angeles.” The soft curve of Mark’s lips makes words that Jackson doesn’t listen to, stares at how mark’s eyes crinkle when he laughs or when his brother tries to take the phone away to say hi to his unofficial second brother. “Mark, I’d kill you for waking me up if you weren’t so cute.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere.” Joey scrambles away in the background sliding on the wood floors, Mark carries the phone through his house (and god does Jackson miss those familiar wood floors and having floor skating races with Mark and Joey, the family photos on the walls, but mostly Mark.) until Jackson gets headphones and rubs his eyes awake. “Seriously, how is it there?”

“S’good. I missed my parents and the food the most. I miss you now, though.”

“Yeah,” The slight blush that creeps up on both of their faces doesn’t get noticed. “It’s quieter here. My car feels emptier and doesn't smell like a gym sock.”

“Call me back when it’s not stupidly early, okay? I’ll be home in 2 and a half weeks.” 

“Coach wants you back that early?”

“It beats January 2nd.” Jackson doesn’t hang up the call with Mark and instead falls asleep to Mark’s voice telling him about the shenanigans that he’d gotten into.

 

Jackson’s mom kisses his forehead and tell him to be good, be brave, call if he needs anything, and sends him through security like she did in August.

Both of them cry after they’re sure they can’t see each other.

 

Mark’s waiting for him on one of the padded benches near the exit of LAX, siting hunched over and staring at his phone, the wall, anything to stop him from pacing. He's texting someone, he always is, except this one is more demanding about answering. Over break he started talking to this guy to fill the Jackson-shaped crush taking over him; older, a little narcissistic and what Mark thinks he needs to preserve his friendship. It's been a wonderful two weeks except when he gets pushy, makes comments about Mark looking exotic and tells him not to hang out with his friends at the club.

Mark listens, because he like the attention and the praise that he gives when Mark asks how high when he says jump. He thought it'd be enough while Jackson was away to have someone in his bed and make him feel good, just a hookup that isn't anything serious. He knows he's in deep when he ignores his phone (and the incoming scolding that follows an unanswered text) to remember why he's here in the first place.

“Mark!” Jackson thought Hong Kong was home until he came to California. He drops his luggage at Mark’s feet and there’s a moment where Mark sniffles and denies he’s crying, then reaches for Jackson’s sleeve to pull him in for a hug.

Mark is home.

 

Jackson is too jet lagged after fourteen hours in transit to notice they're going the wrong way on the highway. “Campus is that way.”

“Like hell I’m letting you sleep in the dorms, stay in my room until you’re less dead. Mom and dad are washing the sheets in the guest room.”

“Okay, mark.” He crashes in the car for a while until Mark shakes him awake with a firm hand wrapped around his upper thigh. He thought he overheard Mark take a phone call, closing with a forced "I love you too," that sounds fake. Jackson doesn’t fight it when Mark takes his carry on and suitcase into the house for him, pushing Jackson towards the staircase and his room. “What about you?”

“I’ll crash on the couch again.” 

Jackson’s between the state of awake and asleep, the blurry limbo period when he hears pieces of a conversation that's less talking and more apologizing on Mark's end. Jackson's protective streak keeps him more awake than asleep and he feels the floorboards sigh when Mark comes into the room dragging his feet behind him, softer tone than usual. Jackson rolls to face the wall and the pillow smells even more like Mark that he wants to bask in it forever. “Jacks, i know you’re asleep, but I’m glad you’re back. I didn’t want to bother you much while you were seeing your family and all, but I missed you. After having you around me for the last few months didn’t know what it’d be like to not have you here." Mark's voice cracks and his phone vibrates again before he turns it off. "And I’m really glad I met you.”

He lifts the blankets and crawls into the full sized bed.

By morning Jackson’s asleep on his back and Mark is tucked close to his side like a key slotting into a lock; they fit just right together. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Mark doesn’t panic at Jackson's term of endearment. He yawns wide and catlike, makes a soft "mmm" and jackson thinks his morning face is still cute even after seeing it up close. “What was that about sleeping on the couch last night?”

“It was cold and I missed you.”

 

Jackson doesn’t see mark after he drops him off at the dorms, or for two weeks' worth of Asian American students club meetings when the new semester starts. or in general, even. Not even a text outside of asking how fencing practice is going. “Amber, have you seen mark around lately?” He catches her in one of the many student common areas outside under an umbrella. They've drifted closer in the meantime, the two of them having more in common besides being friends with Mark Tuan. 

Amber passes her 3ds to Krystal and she swiftly takes over her pokemon battle for her with a serious expression. “No, but I saw him with some guy yesterday though. They looked pretty handsy with each other” Amber and Krystal high five when the victory music plays through tinny speakers that have seen better days.

“Oh. What were they doing?” Jackson’s lost his appetite now.

“Well, Mark kissed him in broad daylight so I’ll let you figure the rest out.” He leaves early despite forcing down his lunch before practice so he’s not working on an empty stomach.

 

Mark texts him on a Saturday afternoon after practice with a _you free?_ and of course Jackson is, he always is for mark. He’s waiting with the aux cord but the car feels different. Cleaner. 

“How’s your new boyfriend?” Jackson has never been much for tact. Mark tenses his grip on the steering wheel and he sits upright trying to look big but he looks so small. “Amber told me before you did.”

“We’re not serious, we met on tinder and he’s in my major. He’s not a bad guy before you ask, it’s just for fun and we aren't serious.” 

“Fine.” Mark doesn't give him the aux cord and the tension feels heavier despite the windows down. “Just, be careful okay?” He bites his tongue and doesn't mention how Mark's sleeves are rolled down; they never are when he drives.

“Calm down, Jackson, it’s just a friends with benefits thing. I’ll end it when I’m ready. What are you feeling up to doing today?”

 

Except, Mark doesn’t break it off even when he knows he should - he becomes less talkative to Jackson, doesn't show up to club meetings or fencing practices, every phone call shorter and there’s a voice in the background, peppered with a “you know i hate it when you don’t use English around me.”

“Sorry, jacks. He wants to go out tonight.” 

“Be careful, Yi-en.” Jackson takes his anger out at fencing practice and at the gym, climbing the ladder of favorites on the team and breaking his own records while being deprived of Mark. He'd feel bad about bruising his hand on the punching bag but it doesn't hurt as much as it should knowing Mark is in a worse situation, being someone else's punching bag.

A few more weeks pass and he brings The Guy (Jackson knows his name is James but can’t bring himself to call him that.) to the club's potluck. It's alright if non-Asian students attend, they have a handful of members who are genuinely interested in the club and what it stands for. He makes a face at their potluck night and picks at his food, unaware that what he was doing is insulting. Jackson feels bad for being judgemental about Mark being with a white guy. Plenty of people back home dated non-chinese, so why was he caring so much now?

The rest of the club's members are equally standoffish to James when he doesn’t make an attempt to say goodbye before dragging mark off by the wrist. Mark doesn’t fight back, pulling his sleeves down when they ride up.

Everyone sees the bruises on mark’s wrist and arm. Jackson sees red.

He's stupid (or brave, depending who he asked) enough to do something about it, shouting at him before they're out the door. “Jesus Christ, Jackson!” Amber exclaims and drops her phone onto the table and it clatters, screen up. Jinyoung doesn’t know any mandarin but he knows by the tone it’s not pleasant and Krystal nod in agreement, standing behind Amber. Jaebum instinctively goes to restrain Jackson and Amber knows enough to help before he does something even more stupid that night. The younger club members who are only freshman look on in awe and concern.

“What’d you say to me?” James keeps his grip on Mark’s wrist and it looks like it hurts; Amber’s gone over to Mark and ignores James' face when she gets Mark away from him and back to the rest of the group. 

"i said you should go. You’ve been rude all night and wouldn’t let Mark talk to anyone.”

“He doesn’t talk anyway, it's not like it matters.” Jaebum’s fingers dig into Jackson's shoulder a little more as a warning - Jaebum and Amber can only do so much before they turn a blind eye and accidentally let Jackson wreck his face if it didn't ruin his scholarship standing. “Right, Markie?”

“Get out of here. I don't need you.” Jinyoung and Krystal are busying themselves with de-escalating the situation and attempting to clean up the table with some of the freshmen helping. “You were a mistake.”

“Should I tell them what you said by accident? How you said Jackson’s name when we were together?” 

Nobody at club is really surprised at this statement (except Jackson, because he didn't want to know how Mark really feels). “Find your own ride home tonight.”

 

The cleanup goes about as well as it can given what just happened - Jinyoung doesn’t push Mark to talk or do anything besides sit down on a folding chair and drink a glass of water while Jaebum tells Jackson to help Amber fold up the tables and move them back to the club storage room. “He’s been crushing on you since you showed up on campus, how did you not see?” Krystal swings her legs back and forth from where she's sitting on a table that hasn't been put away yet. "We thought he was gonna smash that guy's face in."

“I don’t know! I thought it was just him being friendly.”

Jaebum laughs, not condescendingly but in genuine shock. “Mark never gets close with any of us like he has with you. He lets you lay all over him, he borrows your clothes, you’re the only person here that can call him all sorts of stupid names and he just laughs. I went to high school with Mark and I’ve never seen him take to someone so quickly, it took me two years just to meet his parents and he brought you home after a week.”

“He likes me.”

“Yeah, dumbass, he wouldn’t drive you around everywhere or invite you to his house if he didn’t. He never lets me use the aux cord in the car, practically bit my hand off, and he just hands it over to you without thinking.”

 

“I’m not letting you drive back home like this, I'm calling your parents and telling them you're staying. My dorm isn’t the greatest but-” Jackson’s cut off mid-sentence by Mark hugging him, face buried deep in his shoulder and shaking. “Yi-en?”

“Yes.” Well. That settles that. It's Jackson's turn to take care of Mark now. "Thank you."

There's no protesting or fighting when Jackson carries Mark piggyback to his dorm, the majority of campus gone out to clubs or holed up doing homework. Anyone that does see them just minds their business. “Let me see them.” Mark doesn’t have a chance to say no when Jackson pushes his sleeves up, the light mottled bruises up to his elbow. It's nothing serious, nothing that time won't physically heal. Mark winces and Jackson sees his expression - he's tired. “Did he hurt you?”

“He didn’t let me talk to you.” That isn't the right answer but there never really is a right or wrong answer in this situation. Mark’s eating leftovers from their potluck, bits of red pepper flakes clinging to the chopsticks. Jaebum's tteokbokkie, Jackson thinks. Mina probably slipped a few of her own sweet treats in there for little nibbles in case there's too much heat. He can't remember what the other's packed for him to eat but it doesn't matter as long as it's something. “That’s what hurt the most.”

Jackson’s roommate is at a party. Good. “You’re done with him, right? Please don’t take him back.”

“I only got with him so I could get over the other person I like.” 

“He said it was me.”

“It still is, you idiot. When you left to go home I started talking to him more and thought I'd be over you.”

"That was a terrible id-" Mark kisses first and he’s skittish like a stray cat, flinching when Jackson tries to cup his face. He backs away. The impossibly soft skin of his face is already regaining color, at least. “We don't have to kiss if you aren't ready.”

The dorm bed is small enough that it’s awkward to maneuver with two people, longer than it is wide. Mark puts a finger to Jackson's closed lips, effectively silencing him. “I’ve been waiting for you to do this since I brought you home for Thanksgiving.”

Jackson breathes, a long inhale and then a long exhale while he gathers his thoughts. Mark removes the finger and tugs his sleeves back down. “We’re going to talk. A lot more. About this in particular. And take this slow, and I want you to tell me what that bastard did so I don't repeat it.” Jackson is sincere about his words since he doesn't know everything just yet.

Nothing changes for them. (But really, nothing changes. Everyone at the club shouts "finally!" when they show up holding hands the next time, however.) 

 

It's nearing the end of the semester and Jackson knows the looming threat of his return ticket is heavier than the weight limit on his suitcase. He's taking as much time as he can with Mark to undo the damage that the other guy did. They have time.

“Mark, you know about the closed door rule.” Jackson looks equally guilty as Mark, his bottom lip red and cheeks flushed. Ignoring the fact his shirt is a little disheveled, it looks like they were only studying at a quick glance. “Just because it’s Jackson and we know him doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the rule.”

“Mom, I’m nineteen.”

“You’re still my son and living at home so the rules apply.” Jackson nods obediently when Mark's mom makes her point clear. Mark groans into a pillow. 

 

Mark sits in the gym now, watching the fencing team practice every day. He brings a book (usually donated by Jinyoung) or homework to pass the time but he’s always acutely aware of Jackson’s loud whooping even if he can't tell who's who when they're all in gear. When Jackson does well, Mark's heart swells with pride.

Jackson’s fencing was good before; Mark doesn’t know enough on the subject to say otherwise but if the coach’s praise says anything then he must have gotten better. He already cleared regionals in competition the previous semester, he's ready to take on nationals now. 

He’s rarely caught off guard by a win, instead he’s caught off guard by Mark practically leaping from the stands and waving his arms back and forth.

"Your place or mine?" There are pros and cons to both after practice - not paying for food at Mark's house, better wifi, but they can't shut the bedroom door. Jackson's roommate being around, a smaller bed, but they can shut the door and make (out) up for the lost time. 

"Let's see if my roommate or your parents are home first." Jackson changes out of his fencing gear and doesn't bother to shower, stuffing everything in his bag. He texts his roommate and he's doing homework at the library. Mark's parents are out with his sister Tammy. Mark's house it is. He's waiting by the car, leaning against the trunk with it popped open. He crinkles his nose up at the smell and opens his mouth but Jackson stops him. "Before you say it, I know I smell like a dirty gym sock."

"Yeah, but you're _my_ dirty gym sock."


End file.
